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03‏/04‏/2014

I was fortunate, back in 2009, to meet two amazing Palestinian women who helped me shape so much of my feminist believes. We had many debates that opened my eyes to issues that I never discussed with other feminists before them, like how the streets are not constructed to accommodate women's needs in terms of lighting for example, and we talked as well about very personal issues such us hair removal (here is a post that I liked about this issue), 'grooming', and beauty biases at work and in social life (here is a great book that explores part of this). We also talked about sex.

I'll only talk here about heterosexual practices because this is what I, and my friends, were discussing. Setting aside the too-silly-to-respond-to comment of men haters feminists, none of us hated men, we talked about whether there were certain sexual acts can be labeled as degrading to women, or patriarchal, or humiliating. Can we say that a certain sexual act is degrading to all women? And what does that mean for women who (or want to) practice this act? Does it make them victims to patriarchal value? Are they oppressed or can't realized that they are affected by the patriarchal society and the way it is shaping our understanding of sexuality and how we practice it?

Let's move a step behind to address something that is a bit related. There is a feminist debate about pornography, whether it should be banned or not (you can read something on that debate here), and as a result some feminists don't watch porn because all the arguments that says it's an industry based on objectifying women and it's degrading, etc. Others see porn as a source to learn and exercise their sexuality. A position in the middle that a feminist friend told me about once is that she watches Hentai porn, or the newly created category of Female Friendly porn, and others just read erotic stories because it does not include human being in action.

How can we disconnect our views on sexuality from what patriarchy teaches us on daily basis about what is sexy, what is arousing, etc.? How can we believe in the agency of a woman who enjoys practicing BDSM for example? The question becomes even more difficult if a woman lives in a society that constantly practices sexual violence in the daily sexual harassment or sexual assault that women face? How can one speaks of groping, fingering, dirty talking in a consensual context when it is constantly being forced on women in the streets, leaving only one connection: certain sexual acts and behaviors belong to harassers and rapists, they come only by force.

I don't believe that certain acts are universally degrading to all women. Sometimes it feels degrading with someone, while it feels empowering with someone else, and I don't think that being a feminist confine my sexuality in a certain box - otherwise I am a bad feminist. On the contrary, for me, women who explore their sexuality in different forms defy societal norms about what is degrading for women and what is not. For me, they claim back in action what is being taken away from us - to decide and experience what and how they can enjoy their bodies and not fear a judgement based on how sexuality is being mainstreamed.

Young movements. That's what they call us, young activists starting from the 20s till maybe mid or late 30s, when we organize around a certain ideology. We remain 'young' till we we turn 'old' and bitter. A couple of years back, when the revolution transformed our lives, each in a unique way, there were several groups organizing, including men and women who believed that feminism is their common ground. I will not speak in the name of Egyptian feminists, neither will I claim to know all the feminists in this country. I will speak of an experience, that was promising and inspiring to many, that turned bitter, also to many.

For some reason, not only government officials or politicians forget what they say when they say and do the total opposite years along the line. We too forget. We complain about NGO-ization, donor oriented funding, about those figures and organizations dominating the space and excluding younger ones, endorsing other people's initiatives only to get it under their umbrella. We start to forget when we get older, and become bitter. We become bitter when the little years we invested in becoming what we are turns out not enough. We become bitter when we no longer become the only 'new' voice, no longer the sole 'alternative', and no longer the sole 'progressive'.

Then a young movement confine itself in an NGO, use donor's language to get funds, try to suppress small and 'young' initiative, constantly trying to dominate the discourse around the issue, and discrediting others who claim to have a different or opposing opinion. We become old when we think we are the sole bearers of the truth, and of what feminism means.

We become old and bitter when we think we can count on good beginnings and 'knowing people'. And this is when we start to go against all the values, and on the top of it feminist values, that we used to speak of. Sisterhood, solidarity, agency, standing on my sister's shoulders. Sisterhood starts to kill when feminists start to trash each other, and sisterhood starts to destroy when they do not believe in the agency of your choices - as long as it does not correspond to theirs. We forget and we claim to be inclusive, progressive and encouraging. We forget and we turn old, bitter and harmful to our own sisters. Then we betray feminism.

26‏/12‏/2013

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

19‏/11‏/2013

Love makes no sense at all. Nothing of it brings your mind at ease; not the uncontrollable passion, not the anger and hurt, not the attachment or the longing...nothing is rational or sustainable, at least not as you may predict.

The person you may sleep holding him calmly, in your childish feeling of safety, can simply go. The irrational chemistry felt in a moment would turn into a destructive energy ruining what one day felt like heaven. And that dream you had, of discovering life while discovering how limitless your heart can feel when you are both alone, can be taken away by carelessness.

Everything I knew, or thought I knew, about love turned out to be only a discovery of myself and how strong - yet fragile - my heart is. I came to hate hope, or the cruelty that comes with it. With the unlimited range of love stories and relationships, sometimes I wonder if I will ever find my own peace within any of them. I wonder if there will be a day when I don't feel that being sensitive and emotional will always break my heart to pieces. Nevertheless, I find myself letting go, again.

"I was still hesitant to let myself let go, because I still believed in the fragility of happiness." - Ishmael Beah (A long way gone: memoirs of a boy soldier)